Set Me Free
by ChisteryOne
Summary: Violet, the truth, and plenty of drama about it. (Minor Revisions)


**Disclaimer:** "The Incredibles" and all characters of said motion picture are the intellectual property of Pixar Animation Studios and Disney Entertainment. In no way, shape, or form does the author intend to write this fanfiction for personal gain. In no way does the author have any _means_ for attaining financial gain.

In no way does the author intend for this fanfiction to accurately reflect the world views or artistic intent of Brad Bird, Pixar, or Disney Entertainment. The Author wishes that the readers of this fanfiction please refrain from suing based on the implications of this story. He does not wish to diminish the original value of the movie with his own interpretation of Violet as a character in this one-shot.

**Author's Note:**_ Sorry that this kind of drags on a little bit. I attempted for the most part to keep this smooth sailing. I tried to keep true to what I consider Violet's character. Rest assured, this is a one-shot, and for the most part this won't reflect on the Violet of my other series, whatever _those _are going to end up like. This was written maybe to give the reader a new take on Violet. Flames, positive reviews, critical analysis -- I'll take it all with a hearty hello. Chances are if you do it by e-mail, if it's long, I'll mail you back! So feel free, and I hope you enjoy the show._

**Set Me Free**

**By: Yamathan**

I wouldn't have done this if I weren't older, bolder, stronger than I was almost a year ago. I'd like to think that I'm maybe a little more courageous.

It was still kind of daunting, though.

Here I am, at the dinner table, just before Thanksgiving time. Clearing my throat, starting in on something or other.

I clear my throat, and begin,

"Hey, uh, Mom? Dad? I've got something to tell you."

I can read Dad's expression, worried that this is going to be out of his league earnestly trying to listen. The calm bewilderment that always came with it. Mom's is pretty much the same. _That's good, no suspicion or anger or anything. They think it's dinner conversation ... I hope._

I continue.

"Hey, uh ... I've been ... hiding. I've hidden things before, things that could have hurt me...

_Razor blades, old weapons from dad's drawer, the Bowie knife I got for Christmas from Grandma that I used to slice open my thumb so I could write in blood ... _God_ that was dumb._

"And things that I'm really ... really _proud__ of_."

I dart my eyes around. Everyone's looking at me, their plates forgotten almost entirely. Mom and Dad because they're listening. Jack-Jack because he knows he's _supposed _to be looking at me right now. Everyone except for Dash.

Even though he picked up the little hint about not eating right now, he was till going at his vegetables, poking at them with a fork. Dad told him a while before that carrots were supposed to improve muscle reflexes. Or was that asparagus? I can't remember.

So it's on with the dictum that I have memorized, line-for-line, in my head. Otherwise I'd bust at the seams and all the nice little anecdotes I'd looked up would go to waste. What can I say? I'm a professional-grade dweeb.

"I don't know how to say it ... I'm happy about this. But -- well, I don't know how to say it. I've hidden a lot of things, and now I'm breaking down and bearing my soul to all of you ... don't know how to do that. Even for the simple day-to-day things that I always notice -- Here I am, rambling...

"I'm your daughter ... I'm ... I'm your _team__mate_. I trust all of you. A lot."

"I'm also ...

"Ah ... I don't know how to say this. So I'll just say it, ah, flat-out. ... Um, uh, sorry for the trauma it'll cause in a minute, I know how you two hate being surprised, especially at the dinner table. Grand revelations don't go ... together with mashed potatoes ... very ... well ..."

Now all four sets of eyes are all on me. They _had_ been for a while, at least since Dash perked up at the mention of "team mate" and "grand revelations". His fork was down, wide eyes glued on me.

But at _this_ moment those eyes _really_ feel like they're burrowing. Just like the other six around the room.

Another throat clearing, a drawing of confidence.

"Heh." Nervous laugh. More of a spasm, really. "Uh ... I guess ... I guess I'm _dawdling_. I-I can't believe it, I had this whole thing prepared and now it's ..."

Dad's blazingly blue eyes flicker over to Mom's burnt-sienna ones. Both of them were just as confused, muddled and clouded with an expression of ... something. It's unsettling, seeing that unsure expression over my father's features. Especially after becoming Mr. Incredible, a slip of confidence that large made me want to just forget the whole thing, let us all go back to pre-Thanksgiving dinner without the turkey and I'd leave all of this for some other day.

There's no backing down, though. This was something _I__ have _to do, not imposing as much as finally taking control.

Even if a little part of my proverbial spine was liquidating.

* * *

_O-Oh God. Please, please, please ... _please. Just ... _Strength? Courage? _**Something****? _Please._**

I screwed my eyes shut for a minute, waiting for my head to clear. My will managed to steel itself, despite all odds. _Alright, enough. Enough. _Enough_. **Enough** is **enough**, and this is the last day I'm going to stomach this. _I open my eyes, hoping against hope that maybe they aren't looking at me so hard --

But their eyes are all boring down at me, and I'm starting to break out in another cold sweat, adding to the sweat-glean I'd already taken on. My spine was ice, my face was on fire, and my ears were probably turning fire-engine red by now. My eyes were burning, burning, starting to well up. Darting all around between my family's faces.

I felt all flushed for no reason, my face was probably as red as the ears, my _emotional_ condition was going from nervous to absolutely horrible -- I was starting to cry, probably. The more I worried that I was going to cry the more likely it was going to happen. A self-perpetuating anxiety attack was on its way, probably. _This _time there'd be no way to mask it with anger or teen drama. The sobbing fit was already on the way. I could feel it.

I was starting to feel the weird sensation that I get in the nose. That prickling sensation one gets in the sinuses just before a sneeze or a long, long night of bawling the eyes out for no good reason. My breathing was starting to go ragged, and I could feel my eyes welling up and the redness beginning to sweep over my eyes. My face was going into that familiar red flush, the one not borne of embarrassment but of the racking sobs that would come soon.

No way to turn the tide now. _Damn._

I was about to turn into a nervous wreck, just when I needed to be firm. Over nothing. What the Hell triggered it? The light, the glint in the eyes of my parents? The edge that came into my dad's demeanor, the way he stuck out his jaw when he felt threatened in some way? The constant staring? Sure, that was_ daunting_ for me at the time -- but nothing to justify ... nothing that should have turned me into a crybaby again.

_So much for progress._ I started looking at my plate, waiting for the waves of tears to come and take away my ability to speak, rip away my coherency as the catch in my voice turned into a warble and then into a complete noise curtain for any intelligible speech that tried to eke out my vocal chords.

It always worked like that. It worked like that on the long nights that my Mom had held me as I went to sleep, trying to tell her about my woes from a new day. Always seemed to be more of them, back then. I used to be able to bare my soul like that. I used to be able to spill _all _of it. All of them drowned out by the sobs and the tears and cut up by the sobs and muffled by the sweaters I'd huddle inside.

And here I was, with all of _that_ old drama starting up again. _ Tonight's just getting better and better_. Fresh and new, young and old, repressed and dealt with -- it was all the same to my mind all of a sudden. Incredibles drama, teen drama, and now the whole Sad Kid drama, all chomping at the bit. And that sucked. Just like everything else in the world.

The dam would be about ready to burst soon.

Out of a great plan for this evening, there'd be nothing left but the tears.

I wouldn't be able to speak. Just an incoherent blubbering mess, nothing but tears and the sweat that can_ only_ be created through sobbing, two swollen eyes and a runny, funny-shaped nose -- I didn't want to be like that _now_. Not _tonight. _I _needed _to break this to them.

"Sweetie? What do you want to say?" My Mom's voice. I don't have to look up to see that her arm was extending towards my shoulder, ready to caress and comfort. Probably soon a soothing hug, wrapped by her never-ending arms, as Dash and Dad went off _elsewhere_ for a little while.

In a way I wanted that, but despite the fact that my plan, my rehearsed speech that I'd practiced in front of the mirror a dozen times, designed for minimum opportunities for me to break down, that day wasn't _working_ ... Even if I'd break down crying and ruin most of my plans of talking this out after The Grand Revelation ...

Even in spite of that, I wanted to _say_ it.

I snort up some snot that already started to run in my nose. _God, I thought I wouldn't _do_ this any more. _

Resolve. _Easy girl, eeeasy girl. Time to say it._

I took one very deliberate, very intent, look up at my parents. Their look had gone from the guarded puzzlement, the one of a hard edge, to open and unadulterated _worry_. _That_ would have sent me into tears, long long ago in a far away place. At least I had gone through enough progress that I _thought_ I wouldn't break down at the sight of my father's eyebrows going up quite like that, or my mother's entire face to suddenly _emote_ the way she did right then.

I _probably_ wouldn't cry about that now, but there was no telling. My emotional dam was starting to groan under the pressure; I could feel it buckle as the tears started to not just well up, but run. Drops of liquidated crybaby in my case. Chasing one another down the planes of my face.

_Better make it fast, Vi._

I looked up, far worse than I'd expected to be that night. The long black hair was falling over my face -- I don't know what happened to the hair band, all of a sudden, must have slipped off or something -- and the beginnings of the red circles and a fresh welling of tears didn't do well for my demeanor, either. ... But at least I could look at them without their images swimming in front of me. That'd be _later_. I found my voice, found it with only a bit of a catch.

_Here it goes._

I worked up the nerve, snorted back some snot that had started to mill over my upper lip. I'd finally, _finally_ say the words.

Why the Hell was it so hard to choke out the words, simple and easy as I'd practiced it? The words stuttered out, but at least they didn't die in my throat like I thought they would.

"Mom, Dad ... I-- I ..."

"You what, honey?" My Mom, off in the distance.

"I ... I'm gay."

"... _What?_" My father's unabashed suprise. A world away.

"I- I'm a lesbian."

I'd choked it out, but I definetely had said it. It was audible, at least. I finally _said it.

* * *

_

Then the tears came. Joyous occasion as everyone _told _me this was supposed to be, the racking sobs took over long before the gentle peals of crying were supposed to. The way I cried was always like that. Probably always will be.

I felt relief, even as the dam of tears broke and I soon became the blubbering mess I wanted so desperately to _never _be again. It was so weird, the joy now mixed with the tears and how I didn't care _why _it was any more. I was probably in the delerium that can only come when, well, you're a sadsack. Warmth was around me, probably my mother. My father's barotone voice was resonanting, Dash's high one calling back. Probably feet away. Off somewhere I couldn't see through the tears and the bleary fog my mind had just become.

Fourteen, and with the bleary, bleary eyes I had at six. Professional-grade Sad Kid that I used to be, my body knew the old routines -- I could already bleary from hardly a minute of wracking sobs.

I'd laid myself bare, here was the moment that I'd been waiting for months to hear -- what were their reactions, their questions, how I'd have to be strong -- and here I was, bawling my eyes out for no good reason, wrapped in what was probably my mother's arms. I couldn't really tell who was hugging me, whispering something or other in my ear, falling on dumbly deaf ears.

I didn't know if it was Claire. It _could_ have been, to some part of my brain -- I always _dreamed_ about the two of us being this close. Who knew? It _could _have been Calire, as fuddled as I was. I couldn't tell it it was her or if it was my mother, or even my _father _-- anything was possible. Even if this _was _Mom's perfume, who knew, Dad could have been hugging her earlier or something -- today was plenty odd enough.

I was happy, I was sad, I was just so screwed up right now I couldn't even remember _why_ I was crying all of a sudden but it didn't matter, I was warm in my mother's arms and I was safe and I could _feel _my family supporting me. The sobs would subside soon, and then I'd be able to talk. With a lot of Kleenex on my part and a penty of patience on my parents' part, and probably without Dash in the conversation.

I couldn't even think right now of what I was going to say. That'd come later, I guessed. And really it did.

All this drama aside, the truth had come out.

I didn't think of it at the time, but ... I guess _I_ had, too.


End file.
